


Kind of a Thing

by hannah_baker



Series: Kind of a Thing [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:16:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re <i>‘kind of a thing,’</i>” his dad repeated, the quotations clear in his voice. “Well, I’m not sure what <i>kind of a thing</i> means,” he said, getting up, disappearing to the kitchen briefly and returning with a beer, “but it’s 9:45, which means that <i>kind of a thing</i> needs to leave in fifteen minutes.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind of a Thing

Sheriff Stilinski closed the kitchen door quietly behind him. It was only 9:30, but he’d worked the night shift every night that week; quiet had become a habit for him. He was exhausted. Getting off work early had been a blessing. Stiles’ Jeep was parked in the driveway, and John opened his mouth to call out to his son when he heard talking coming from the living room.

“You promise you’re feeling better, though?” a deep voice asked from the living room, just out of sight. It sounded familiar, but John couldn’t _quite_ place it. It was deeper than Scott’s and he couldn’t imagine who else Stiles would have invited over. 

“Yeah,” he heard Stiles say with a sigh. “Feeling calmer.”

“Good.”

There was a brief pause and then: The soft, though distinct, sounds of kissing. _What the hell was going on?_

The sheriff creeped silently through the kitchen to the living room to find Derek Hale flush on top of his son on the couch, one arm supporting himself above Stiles, one hand stroking the skin just under the hem of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles arms were locked around Derek’s neck, fingers brushing through his hair. Their kisses were slow and lazy and casual - the kisses of two people who have already done their fair share. This obviously wasn’t a new thing. Whatever _it_ was. 

“I’m, uh, not exactly sure what I’m walking in on,” John said, and Stiles and Derek both jumped, their heads knocking together with an audible smack. 

“Shit,” Stiles said, his hand finding the sore spot on his forehead as they both scrambled to be upright on the couch. “You’re early.”

“Stiles, what in the name of God is Derek Hale doing in my house?” John asked, voice more exasperated than anything else. It had been a long day. Stiles looked at him, flicked his eyes to Derek and looked back, a bit sheepish. “Aside from the obvious,” he said quickly, hoping to bypass any explanation that involved what they were doing on the couch.

John took a seat on the chair opposite the couch, the coffee table giving them all some safe distance. He saw Stiles check to make sure his gun was gone. He’d left it in the kitchen. 

“I, um,” Stiles struggled, resting his head in his hands. He looked up at his dad, his face more confused than angry, and struggled to re-regulate his breathing. His face was flushed from panic, eyes bloodshot and swollen from the tears from earlier that night.

“What happened?” John asked, now with concern rather than anger, finally noticing Stiles’ red, sore-looking eyes. The post-crying eyes he hadn’t seen on his son’s face in quite a while. He looked accusingly at Derek. Stiles shook his head vehemently. _Not because of Derek._

Stiles continued to struggle with his breathing, breaths coming rapidly and more irregular, one hand coming up to his own chest, eyes anxious. It was clear he wasn’t going to be able to answer his dad’s question. The shock of his dad walking in on him and Derek was pressing stress back into his still-tense chest, urgent and painful. John recognized the signs of Stiles’ panic attacks and he flicked his nervous gaze to Derek. 

Derek gave the sheriff a _this might be a little awkward, sorry_ look before turning to Stiles, cupping his face in his hands and forcing eye contact. “It’s okay,” Derek said quietly, trying to get Stiles to focus on him. He took one of Stiles’ hands and placed it on his own chest. “Can you get your breathing to match mine?” Derek asked him. Stiles nodded and closed his eyes, anchoring himself to the rising and falling of Derek’s chest. Derek breathed in for five seconds, held it for two, then out for five. 

After the fourth repeat of the breathing cycle, Stiles was a bit calmer. Getting his breath under control was usually the most difficult thing, but Derek had caught Stiles early. Major crisis averted - for the most part. 

John wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do in that situation. There had been some intimacy that he wasn’t quite ready to witness - emotions that would have been nice to come to understand slowly. The way Derek looked at Stiles, his tone of voice, the way his thumbs brushed over Stiles’ cheeks. The twenty-three-year-old man who had once been handcuffed in the back of his cruiser was clearly in love with his sixteen-year-old son. It was a lot to take in. He needed a drink.

“He had a panic attack earlier,” Derek finally offered up, and it startled John out of his thoughts. Derek’s tone of voice tactfully toed the awkward silence. There was also a healthy bit of fear in it, and that pleased John. Derek should be at least a little afraid of him. “Obviously he just had the start of another one, but I originally came over to help him through the first one.” Stiles had closed his eyes again and rested his forehead against Derek’s shoulder. His anxiety was exhausting, panic attacks were exhausting. Derek stroked a hand up and down his back to help keep him calm. John tried to ignore it.  

“But you’re okay now, son?” John asked, and Stiles nodded against Derek’s shoulder before sitting up again and looking at his dad. He looked wrecked. John checked his watch. Quarter to ten. He was still having a difficult time wrapping his head around this, and Stiles was clearly not in any condition to talk about it now; Stiles usually wanted some space after having a panic attack. He stated to wrap things up. “So…” he started, looking between Stiles and Derek, letting the question hang in the air. 

“So,” Stiles said, gesturing between him and Derek. “We’re kind of a thing?” 

“You’re ‘ _kind of a thing_ ,’” his dad repeated, the quotations clear in his voice. “Well, I’m not sure what _kind of a thing_ means,” he said, getting up, disappearing to the kitchen briefly and returning with a beer, “but it’s 9:45, which means that _kind of a thing_ needs to leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know,” Stiles said, and gave him a weak smile. John returned the smile, trying not to look at the way his son’s fingers were lazily twining with those of an older man who had once been arrested on suspicion for murder. He turned to head up stairs. 

“Oh, and Stiles,” he added before disappearing completely to the second floor, “we’re going to talk about this tomorrow.” 

 _“Shit.”_  

 

-

 

John paused in front of his son’s bedroom door, trying to muster up some strength to have the conversation he was about to have. He was not excited. He knocked twice and entered with Stiles’ permission, finding his son sprawled on his bed, school books covering nearly the entire surface, his computer open to a word document that looked woefully bare. He pulled Stiles’ computer chair close to his bed and sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees. 

“I can’t imagine this conversation being particularly enjoyable for either of us,” he started, awkwardness already in full force. 

“You know Dad, we don’t even have to have it. We can just _say_ we did,” Stiles said, his voice tense, speech rushed. 

“Derek is seven years older than you,” John said, jumping right into the middle of…the literal first thought that came to his mind. 

“Only technically. He _just_ turned twenty-three and I’m seventeen next month, so it’s really only six,” Stiles argued back, looking defeated already. John didn’t want to be responsible for that look on Stiles’ face. He paused. 

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“Only a couple months,” Stiles said, a bit sheepishly. John nodded. 

“A couple months,” he repeated, trying his hardest to keep himself under control during this conversation. “And you hid it from me because…?”

“Twenty-three, police record, male,” Stiles ticked them off on his fingers. 

“Well, his gender isn’t the issue. And technically I guess that his arrest record never led to conviction, though you never _really_ want to see a man you put in handcuffs laying literally on top of your teenage son - no matter how consensual the situation appears.”

“I admit there are better ways you could have found out about us,” Stiles said, nodding solemnly.

“Like you telling me, for example,” John said pointedly. 

“Yes, lesson learned. Tell your father about the boys you’re kissing,” Stiles said, trying to keep it light. 

“Boys?” John arched his eyebrow to play along - they both needed a bit of comedic relief. 

“Boy. One boy. Singular. Just Derek,” Stiles said. John couldn't help but notice the way Stiles smiled involuntarily just at Derek's name. 

“I am worried about his age still, Stiles,” John said, ignoring his son’s rambling, and working up to the awkward part of the conversation. 

“Dad, you need to stop focusing on that. Derek isn’t just some old creep,” Stiles’ voice verged on whining. “Derek is…” he left his thought hanging, unable to choose the perfect words to describe him. 

“Derek is… a twenty-three-year-old leather jacket wearing Camaro driver?” 

“Dad,” Stiles started, looking down at his hands. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Scott is my best friend,” he started, and John nodded. “But Scott doesn’t get it, you know?”

“Scott doesn’t get much,” John said, and Stiles laughed. 

“Well, it’s a good thing he’s pretty then,” Stiles said, and tried to push through his thoughts. He felt them jumbling up a bit as his concentration slipped to his dad’s comment. “But he’s never understood. Like, his mom is a single parent, but because his dad left. He’s never understood about Mom. I’ve never been able to talk to him about it.” 

 _“Oh.”_ John, for whatever reason, hadn’t thought about Derek’s family at all - especially not about how he had such a blatant thing in common with his son - they’d lost their mothers. 

 “Scott doesn’t listen to me. I can tell him something seven times and it still doesn’t register in his head. And now with Allison, even when we hang out, he’s just constantly texting her or checking his phone.” Stiles played nervously with the pencil in his hand and averted his eye contact. “Derek listens to me. Even about the trivial things - and especially when I think he’s not listening. I mentioned my favorite candy bar once, and the next morning when I went to drive to school, there was a Milky Way waiting on the dash of the Jeep.

“But when I talk about Mom, I have his undivided attention. He wants to know everything about her, everything that I can remember. And I know he’s doing that for me. And I don’t feel awkward crying in front of him anymore because he’s done it too…” Stiles trailed off. 

“Well I’m glad you have someone to talk about her with. Though you can always talk to me, you know that.”

“I know. And thanks.” Stiles paused. “Dad, If you were to make an educated guess as to how many friends Derek has here, what would you say?” Stiles looked sad asking that question. John wasn’t an idiot. 

“You,” he said. “Probably just you.” Stiles nodded. 

“Beacon Hills hasn’t been overwhelmingly welcoming to him,” Stiles said. “He’s lonely. And he doesn’t even have a dad telling him that befriending a sixteen year old kid is a bad idea. He takes care of me. But I also take care of him.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m not here to talk you out of your… _kind of a thing_. I’m just here to say that I’m concerned-“

“Well thanks, Dad,” Stiles said with honesty. 

“I’m not done,” he said, taking a couple deep breaths. “I’m concerned, but I know forbidding you from seeing him isn’t going to change anything if it took me two months to figure it out on my own.” Stiles’ eyes lit up with hope. “But there will be some ground rules,” he said, trying to think up something on the spot that would actually be effective. “Your curfew is now ten o’clock.” 

“My curfew was already ten o’clock,” Stiles said.

“It was ten on school nights. Now it’s ten every night,” he watched as Stiles tried not to complain about losing his Friday and Saturday midnight curfew, even though he generally only utilized it to play video games at Scott’s house. “Now, if you and Derek are here on Friday and Saturday, he can stay until midnight. You just can’t be out past ten.”

“That sounds fair,” Stiles said, trying to take what he could get. 

“And he’s not allowed in your bedroom under any circumstances, even with the door open.” Stiles bit his tongue at that one, but he understood. “You can hang out in any room on the main floor. Any questions so far?” 

“No, sir,” Stiles said, not wanting to jeopardize any rules. His dad was being a lot nicer about this than he thought he was going to be. 

“And Derek will be eating dinner with us once a week,” he finished. Stiles smiled at that one. 

“He’d like that, actually,” Stiles said. “He misses family stuff.”

“Alright. Well. That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” John finished, standing up from the chair and pushing it back to the desk. He paused at the door on his way out. “Also I’m saying this because I feel required to as your parent. Use a condom,” he said and rushed out the door.

“I’m still a virgin!” Stiles called to him as he walked down the hall to his own room. He shook his head at his son, but he couldn’t help but smile a bit. Thank god for small miracles. 

 

-

 

It had been about a month after John had found out about Derek and Stiles before he could get Derek to actually park his car anywhere near their house - old hiding-the-car-from-your-underage-boyfriend’s-sheriff-father habits die hard. The offer for a spot in the driveway was made with generosity and welcoming, but honestly, the visible presence of the Camaro was just a nice cue. To John, it meant “make as much noise as possible when entering the house to avoid seeing unseeable things.”

He practically slammed the door from the garage shut behind him as he entered the kitchen, and immediately headed toward the living room where he would find his son and Derek present and fully clothed _or else_. Though the _or else_ was pretty much just a comforting threat that lived only in the sheriff’s mind. 

He found both boys on the couch, his son square on top of Derek, head tucked on Derek’s shoulder. John could hear his son’s quiet snores. Derek shifted in his position on the couch under Stiles just enough to hold one finger up to his lips, and whispered quietly, “He’s been sleeping so little lately, I don’t want to wake him up.” 

“How long has he been asleep for?” John asked, leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and the living room. He’d heard Stiles moving around in his room, getting snacks from the kitchen, playing video games, whatever, until all hours of the night recently. He was worried too. 

“Since seven - nearly two and a half hours,” Derek said, and John was glad to finally realize that Derek didn’t seen nervous around him anymore. He had one arm locked tight around Stiles’ shoulders, one hand absently rubbing the fuzz of his buzz cut. 

“And you’ve just been…?”

Derek chuckled and flicked his eyes toward the TV. Family Guy, on mute with the captions on. 

“Well thanks for letting him sleep,” John said, and looked down at his watch, “but you’re going to have to wake him up in twenty minutes.” Derek nodded.

“I’ll be gone by 9:59, sir,” he said, and John smiled. Derek had been incredibly respectful of John’s rules. He was never a minute over on curfew and came to dinner every Wednesday night. He was obviously very aware that he was dating the sheriff’s underage son. All of his toes were distinctly in line. 

John headed into the kitchen to scrape together something for dinner, when he thought a bit about what Derek said - Stiles had been asleep since seven. He poked his head back into the living room. “Did you boys eat anything for dinner?”

Derek shook his head. “He fell asleep before I could order a pizza,” he said, his voice still just barely above a whisper. 

“Well, I was going to throw some frozen things into the oven - would you want to stay and eat something with us before you go home?” John was feeling generous. His day had actually gone smoothly. The worst emergency call had been a fender bender. None of his officers had called in sick. He got caught up on his paperwork and got out on time. 

“Yeah,” Derek said, “that’d be great actually.”

John rustled quietly in the kitchen secretly listening to Derek wake Stiles up. He’d always thought of Derek as a violent young man, prone to anger and frowning and poor decisions. But he’d come to realize that so much of that was what Stiles called his “defense mechanism.” He was still weirded out by the age difference, but Stiles had just turned seventeen, and Derek was surprisingly gentle and patient with him. His feelings toward Stiles seemed genuine, and that helped John accept his son’s relationship a bit easier. 

“Morning, beautiful,” John overheard Derek say, and instantly regretted his quiet kitchen behaviors. He should really just buy some ear plugs. 

“Oh god please tell me it’s not actually morning, though you’d be gone already if it was,” he heard his son ramble, his voice raspy from sleep. 

“No, but it is almost ten,” Derek replied. 

“Shit, I slept through our entire night together,” Stiles said with a groan. 

“You needed the sleep.” Derek’s voice was both stern and concerned. Stiles sighed. 

“How many more minutes until ten?” Stiles asked, and John once again heard a bit of rustling and those telltale soft kissing sounds. Thankfully they were over quickly. 

“About twenty, but your dad invited me to stay for dinner, actually,” Derek said, and John could hear the victory in his voice. 

“Seriously? Like, past ten?” 

“To the best of my understanding I’m allowed to stay until we’re done eating.”

“That’s rad,” Stiles said, and John heard the unnecessary cacophony of sounds that meant that Stiles was trying to get off of Derek and the couch and onto his own feet. 

Stiles strolled into the kitchen, body still a bit uncoordinated due to his _general lack of coordination_ , but also due to the fact that he had just woken up. He pulled Derek behind him by the hand, and came to a stop behind the center island. Derek’s hands found Stiles’ waist and pulled them close together. John smiled from the other side of the island as he pointed out the food he’d dug out of the freezer. 

“Oven’s nearly done heating up, but we have mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, and for some reason, dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets, which I don’t remember buying,” John said, and Stiles grinned. 

“You didn’t.” 

John threw the food on a baking sheet and slid it in the oven while Derek and Stiles bustled around the kitchen, pouring drinks and getting silverware out. It was nice. It was beginning to feel natural. Their house was supposed to be home to three people, but for so long it had only been home for two. Maybe it was time to welcome someone new in. 

John was slowly getting used to the fact that Derek was probably at his house if school was out and it was before ten. He was getting used to the way Stiles so comfortably leaned against Derek, or rested his head on Derek’s shoulder. They weren’t physically affectionate outside of the house - John wasn’t one hundred percent sure that Scott even knew the nature of their relationship yet, let alone strangers at the supermarket - but inside the house Stiles rarely missed a moment to hold Derek’s hand, or press a quick kiss to Derek’s stubbly cheek.

It was sweet, actually. John had fallen in love when his wife when he was seventeen (though she had been sixteen at the time, not twenty-three), and he remembered how his body felt constantly on fire. How he could suddenly breathe better when she entered the room. How she was all he saw when he closed his eyes. She still was all he saw when he closed his eyes. 

And John couldn’t help but think that Stiles’ mom would have taken one look at the way Derek looked at Stiles, and approved. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm Hannah <3 Thank you for reading my silly nonsense. I'm clearly a fluff shipper. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr! [221hannahbaker](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com) is my personal/main/Sherlock blog, and [hannahisawolf](http://hannahisawolf.tumblr.com) is my TW blog. I'm quite nice and I like to chat so come say hi :3 


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